Faithful
by Ellynne
Summary: When Jonas Dove owes a debt, he will do whatever it takes to pay it back-no matter what the cost.


I do not own Once Upon a Time, just in case there were any doubts.

**Special Thanks to Rhonwen for reading this first and giving me advice.**

X

_I've never been a deep thinker. But, I have to ask, if a man is his memories, what am I? _

_The name on my birth certificate is Jonas Dove. For twenty-eight years, that was all I needed to know. Then, everything changed. Except it didn't. Everything was what it had always been. The only change was that we knew._

Dove's old, Victorian home had been in the family for generations. An ancestor in the nineteenth century was the one who had put the pigeon loft at the top of the house, surrounded by the widow's walk.

The people of Maine had been shipbuilders and mariners back in those days. Local tradition said the widow's walks still found on some of the older houses had been so the inhabitants could watch for ships coming into port. Many of those watchers would have been women waiting for husbands who never returned from the sea.

An architect Dove had spoken with once said otherwise. The walks, he said, had first been built for houses nowhere near the sea. They were just a pretty touch to a house for those who could afford him.

Dove had accepted that. But, he had also read the journals of his great-great-grandmother. She had spent many days waiting and watching for returning ships. She was also the one who had built the loft and trained the pigeons kept there. They'd been sent out with her husband and sons on their voyages. The men hadn't been whalers, gone for years at a time, just traders going up and down the eastern seaboard on voyages measured in weeks or months, safe voyages in easy sight of land. Even so, two of her birds had brought the last words she ever had from two of her sons.

Except they hadn't. None of that had ever happened.

_One of my ancestors was with the marines who went to free the American sailors captured in Tripoli over two hundred years ago. His son served in the war of 1812 and helped defend Maine from the British. While we earned our living as traders and farmers, the marines were where we went when our country called us to serve. My great-grandfather was the first to make it his career, enlisting before the start of World War I. He's the one who got the ring I wear, the one with the marine crest. After a hundred years, it's worn down. The eagle looks more like a dove—unless great-grandfather had it made that way, a family joke—but you can read the motto: _semper fidelis,_ always faithful. My grandfather served through the Great Depression, World War II, and Korea. He was decorated for heroism at Okinawa. My father served in Vietnam and died there. I was in the marines for ten years before being told I should apply for Special Forces in the army. _

_They say there's no such thing as an ex-marine, just marines who aren't in combat anymore. Leaving for another service, it's not a good thing. But, it felt like what I needed to do. I served for five years before bad intel wiped out my unit. I survived, but my shoulder was shattered._

_There are looks you get when you survive and the others don't. Or that's what it feels like. I didn't fight the medical discharge, though I've recovered most of the use of my arm since then. I figured I knew the real reason I was being kicked out, and I agreed with it. It was a long time before I asked if anyone really blamed me for those deaths—anyone but me. Then, I had to ask if the best memorial I could give them was ruining the life of the only one of us to live._

_Maybe you have to be a soldier for that to make sense. But, I realized I owed it to them to do something with my life, to make it count._

_Or I did till six months ago. That was the day I woke up and knew none of it—not my time in the marines, not the great-great grandmother and her homing pigeons, not the dead men I saw every time I went to sleep—none of it was real._

Dove had been busy in the pigeon loft when he heard the report over his police scanner. Work had been slow lately, but strange things kept happening in town. It seemed like a good idea to keep an ear to the ground. Still, he was much more interested right then in getting a new layer of straw across the loft floor and checking his birds, a pair of lace-winged ice-pigeons, Columbus (he had always struck Dove as a bit of a rover) and Bianca. Like everyone else in Stroybrooke, they'd been edgy lately.

Then, he heard Mr. Gold's name. There'd been a shooting and a car accident near the town line. Mr. Gold was the one who'd called it in. Two men were hurt. A woman had been injured, shot.

A woman.

A woman with Mr. Gold.

_Her._

_Guilt, PTSD, the nonstop pain in my shoulder, I was the picture book mess some people expected returning from war. Regina never was creative. I took pain medicine for my arm. Then, I got Doc to increase the dose. And increase it again._

_One day, I was in Tom Clark's pharmacy, trying to refill my prescription. But, I'd gone through it too fast. They wouldn't give me any more. I started yelling and cursing, and grabbed Tom. He's just a little guy, and I'm seven feet. I was threatening to throw him through a wall, when Mr. Gold came up behind me._

_He whacked me hard on the back of my knees. He knew just how to do it, too, to make me tumble backwards. Just to make sure I went down, he hit me hard on the chest as I fell past him. When I landed, he was crouched over me with his cane right against my throat. I could barely breathe. He had this furious look—more like a monster than a man—on his face. He shoved that cane against my neck and growled:_

"_Stop. Whining." _

_That's all he said to me. But, it was enough._

Dove finished in the loft and hurried down two flights of stairs. His house dog, a 200 pound Newfie named Chumley, sensed something wrong and came running up to him as he came down the stairs. But, Dove shooed the dog aside, hurrying out the door.

He made his way past the carefully tended flowerbeds and the perfectly manicured lawn—as neatly trimmed as a marine haircut. He opened the gate in the ten feet high, cement wall. It was steel reinforced with broken glass embedded in the top right below the barbed wire. His oudoor dogs, four Rottweilers, were patrolling on the other side. Dove hesitated, then whistled for them. If something was up—something that could get to Gold—the dogs would be safer inside the wall.

He drove his car through the open gate, then closed it behind him. He drove to the second gate, the one in the chain link fence. Like the cement wall, it had plenty of barbed wire, though it wasn't as secure as he would have liked. The town council kept rejecting his request for a variance on the zoning codes that forbade electrifying it. Still, he was an optimist. He had everything wired up and ready to go whenever they did approve it—or when disaster struck. Whichever came first.

_Gold sounded like my first drill instructor. He got through to me when nothing else had. I got off the drugs, started doing my physical therapy, and built a small business. Mostly, I did home security, some collection work for Mr. Gold—well, a lot of work for Mr. Gold—and occasional body-guarding._

_Most of the people in town wet their pants at the sight of him. But, I felt like I owed him. I'd been turning into something I didn't want to be when he stopped me. It was because of him that I could stand to look at the man in the mirror each morning._

_Except that's not who I'm looking at. And maybe none of it happened anyway._

He found Mr. Gold in the hospital waiting room, staring at nothing. Dove took in that look of loss—of complete devastation—and felt his heart stop.

"Mr. Gold, Miss Belle—is she—did she—"

Gold looked up at him, his face blank and empty, as though he were trying to remember who this looming giant was and figure out what the sounds coming out of his mouth meant—or why they should even matter. Then, he blinked, comprehension coming into his eyes.

"She's alive," he said. "She—she's all right. She doesn't remember."

"Sir?"

"She crossed the town line. Hook shot her, and she fell across the line. She doesn't remember."

_I think it happened. I've never asked him, but I think that memory's real._

_So many aren't. The men I served with, the buddies who died, none of that happened._

_Only it did. Just not the way I remember. There was a war. I was wounded in it. But I wasn't a soldier, just a messenger. And I got through. The faces I remember, they were real people, men who died in the fighting. But, their deaths aren't on me. I suppose, if anything, I helped save the ones who lived._

_I wish it felt that way. But, it's all right if it doesn't. I made my peace a long time ago with surviving and with blaming myself—even when I finally accepted I wasn't to blame._

He didn't see her, not that night. Gold had gone in to check on her and came out looking like he was the one who was shot.

"She needs to rest," he told Dove, voice hoarse. "Don't—don't bother her. Please." Then, he gave Dove a job.

Dove went home, thinking about what Gold had asked of him and how to do it. There was only one way that he could see.

He packed a few things into a bag, then, got out his cell phone. He didn't make any calls, but he checked over the status of a few friends, soldiers and other security people he'd kept in contact with, even if it had been years since he'd met them. Even if he'd never met them.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the sun to come up and hospital visiting hours to begin.

Despite getting an early start, Ruby Lucas, the wolf girl, was there ahead of him. Even thought he was a large man, Dove had a way of looking inconsequential when he wanted to. Neither woman noticed him as he walked over (though he did scare off another patient, Greg Mendel, just by looking at him).

Belle was looking at Ruby, uncertainty in her eyes. "Were we really friends?" she asked.

Belle really didn't know, just like she hadn't known Mr. Gold last night when he'd finally seen her—just like she wouldn't know her enemies, even if they were standing right in front of her.

Ruby didn't seem to be thinking about that. She only looked sad and heart-broken. "Yeah, we were."

"Then, tell me the truth." Dove had to smile at her tone. Belle—Lady Belle—had never faltered during the war. When her father and all his soldiers were ready to give into despair, she had held firm. She wasn't begging Ruby. No sad, pathetic _whining_ for her. Her voice was ragged but strong. "Before I was brought here, I was hurt, I was bleeding. And then this man came. And he . . . he healed me. Then, I saw him hold a ball of fire in his hands. How? How is that possible?"

_How is that possible?_

It was a question no one in Storybrooke needed to ask, not when the man was Mr. Gold.

No one but Belle.

Ruby's eyes didn't quite meet Belle's. She tried to lie. "The nurse said that the tranquilizers can give you wicked nightmares—"

She knew Belle, yet she'd expected that to work. Belle was already shaking her head. "No, I _know_ what I saw. And I don't need any more tranquilizers, or—"

"Belle—"

"Don't call me that. Why does everyone keep calling me that? I don't—"

That was when the nurse came up behind her, grabbing her. Dove saw the needle in the woman's hand as it plunged towards Belle's arm—

_Her face is one of the first things I remember. It was one of her duties—she had so many, and they only increased as the war turned against us. She cared for the wounded, found places for the refugees pouring into the castle as our lands were overwhelmed, kept track of food and supplies—and she looked after the messenger birds._

_It had been one of her duties before the war, too. When one chick was left orphaned, she cared for the tiny thing till it was grown._

_If it had happened later, if it had been during the war when she barely had time to catch a few minutes sleep as she went from crisis to crisis, she might not have had time to care for one small, insignificant creature. Likely, it would have died. I would have died._

_Or maybe not. She never gave up on anyone or anything, not that I remember. _

_She saved my life. I would do anything for her._

_So, when the day came they were desperate enough to send a messenger to the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, to beg him to save their lives-even if I didn't understand who that was or what he could do-I was ready to deliver it. Or die trying._

Dove caught the nurse's hand. "She said she doesn't need any more tranquilizers."

The nurse glared at him. "She's a mental patient." Dove saw Lady Belle flinch as the nurse called her that. "She doesn't—"

"Yes, she does," Dove said. He knocked the syringe out of the nurse's hand so it fell to the floor. Then, he stepped on it, crushing it (and grateful his boots were thick enough to stop the needle or any shards getting through).

"Oops. Sorry."

He shoved the nurse back from Lady Belle and stood between them. _Mental patient_. If the nurse called Belle that, she must be one of the people who knew her when she was a prisoner here.

He fought the urge to pick up the woman and snap her like a twig. Lady Belle would not approve. Keeping his voice calm, he said, "She's not a mental patient. She was shot last night by a criminal named Killian Jones. If you don't believe me, talk to Dr. Hopper. He's the only psychiatrist in this town who could have committed her. And he didn't. Or, better yet, check with a certain pawnbroker. I understand he's taken an interest in this case. _He_ can explain it to you. I understand he also owns this building. And your home." Well, it was a good bet. Mr. Gold owned nearly all the homes in Storybrooke. Dove was one of maybe five people in town who didn't pay him rent. "I'm sure he'll tell you what you need to know." _And he'll take care of you better than I will._

The nurse scurried off, trying not to look like she was running away. In Dove's professional opinion, she failed miserably.

"Wh-who are you?" Lady Belle asked.

"Jonas Dove." He looked around, thinking he'd be less intimidating if he could sit down. None of the chairs nearby looked large enough for him to sit in. He cleared off part of the coffee table and pushed it back, giving her more space. "What would you like me to call you?" She gave him a hard, suspicious look. He supposed that had sounded like he was trying to humor her. "I know you don't like Belle."

"Because, that's not my name. Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

"Because, it's what everyone _has_ been calling you. Call it a nickname. I don't know how you got it." It was true he didn't know how she got the _name_, Belle. He supposed her mother or father had chosen it—that was the way it usually worked, wasn't it?—but he didn't _know. _"You've . . ." Oh, how was he supposed to say this? ". . . lost some time. Because of what happened. So, what would you like me to call you?"

Her eyes darted back and forth from Dove to Ruby and back again, wondering if she should believe him. "Rose," she said. "Just call me Rose."

He nodded. "All right, then, Rose. That man healed you and held fire in his hands because that man can heal people and hold fire in his hands." And he wished that was all he needed to say. Explanations had never been his strong point. As Gold's assistant (or, as people like Ruby called him, Gold's Goon), his job had rarely required him to say more than, "Yes," "No," and "If you don't move, you may get hurt."

He tried to find a good place to begin. "There's a boy who lives in this town, Henry Mills. Almost two years ago, Henry's mother began sending him to the local psychiatrist, Dr. Hopper. Henry had this idea that—that we were all characters out of stories, fairy tales. Only we were under a curse and didn't know it. Dr. Hopper said something once about it being a metaphor, a way for Henry to express his fears. Henry said Dr. Hopper was Jiminy Cricket, the conscience. Ruby here was Little Red Riding Hood."

"Who did he think you were?" Belle—Rose looked doubtfully over his huge, intimidating height. "Frankenstein?" She flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . . ."

Dove couldn't help smiling, shocking Ruby. Now he thought of it, he didn't smile often. Especially when he was working. "I've been called worse. But, Dr. Frankenstein is somebody else. I don't think Henry knew me well enough to have a theory about me.

"But, a few months ago, something happened. You can call it mass hysteria, if you like. It's true that there was a terrible storm that night, a lot of panic. That might have set it off." No reason to mention the storm was caused by a soul sucking wraith on a mission of revenge. "But, all of us—everyone in Storybrooke—suddenly had two sets of memories. One was the old set we'd always had. The other set . . . we remembered magic. We remembered being other people in a world where magic was real. We remembered Henry was right.

"You _don't_ have to believe that, if you don't want to," he added earnestly. "You can think we're all crazy or it was the power of suggestion combined with a local disaster. But, Mr. Gold, at least, _can_ heal people. And hold fireballs."

"That-that's crazy."

"I know."

"That's _insane._"

"No one says otherwise. But, you saw it happen."

_That was my one, heroic moment, the only one that really happened, delivering that message. I flew past Ogres, past spears, and past rocks hurtling at me, big enough to kill a dragon. Ogres are blind, but the air was so thick with their missiles, I could barely get by them all. Blind or not, they knew I was there._

_That's when I took the wound in my wing. I saw the spear coming and _nearly_ got out of the way in time. It only grazed me instead of killing me. But, it was agony flying after that. I left a blood trail all the way to the Dark One's castle. That's how I learned Ogres have a great sense of smell. They can track like bloodhounds._

_In the end, that was a good thing. The Dark One has never cared for Ogres. He came out himself to deal with the ones stupid enough to tread on his land—and he found me before I dropped dead. Otherwise, I don't think I ever would have gotten the message to him. _

_I knew the general outline of the letter, even if I didn't know the exact words. They told him about the Ogres, begged for his help, and offered all the wealth in our little land if he saved us. He laughed when he read it. Then, he patched up my wing and gave me a perch to rest on with birdseed and water. Then, he left._

_That's all I knew till he showed up at the castle again with the Lady Belle._

_Later, I learned the whole story. He didn't need the gold they offered. He makes his own. But, he'd decided he needed a housekeeper or servant. He offered them everything they wanted—if the Lady Belle would come with him. Forever._

_Her father refused. Belle agreed._

"So, who am I supposed to be in this crazy world?"

"A princess, I think," Dove hedged. Honesty pushed him to add, "You, ah, seem to be the only person in town who can, er, put up with Mr. Gold. That probably makes you Beauty. From, you know, Beauty and the Beast."

"Mr. Gold," Be—_Rose's_ voice tightened. "What do you mean 'put up with him'?"

"Uh. . . ."

"Nothing bad!" Ruby assured her. "Only, you like him. Or you did. And you yell at him when he makes you mad, and meet him for hamburgers at Granny's diner, and you laugh if he makes dumb jokes about pickles and catsup. I don't know about being Beauty, but you used to work for him. As his housekeeper. You're friends. Or something."

"Or . . . something?"

"I haven't figured it out. I'm not sure if _you've_ figured it out. I only know the guy looked like the world ended last night when he came into the hospital. And he'd crawl over a mile of broken glass and pour lemon juice in the cuts just to have you smile at him."

Rose didn't look like she found this reassuring. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around as though she expected a monster to jump out of the shadows and attack her.

"He's not here," Dove said. "Don't worry. He won't . . . he won't bother you. You told him to go away, so that's what he's doing."

_The Dark One sent me back with a mended wing and a brief letter that made Lord Maurice scowl when he read it. Rumplestiltskin had made one of his jokes—he could never resist doing that, "Having a wonderful time, glad you're not here." _

_I don't think I understood humans well enough back then to know why that might make a father look like a thunderstorm. I don't think Rumplestiltskin thought or cared how Lord Maurice might take it._

_I was also the one Lord Maurice sent secretly to Lady Belle when the Ogres were defeated. That one read, "The Ogres are destroyed. We're saved. Escape. Come home."_

_I know what she sent back. "I gave my word. Would you have me break it when he kept his?"_

"Did I know you?"

"Here?" Dove asked. "Or in that world?"

"Both. Either."

"Here, yes. Just 'hello' and 'how are you' sort of things. I, er, I work in security. The town council just asked me to do an evaluation of the library after everything that happened—that's where you work. I also do body-guard work. When things are slow, I work for a, er, collection agency."

Rose looked like she was going to ask what an "a, er, collection agency" was. He hurried on before she got the chance. "In the other world, the old one, we never talked much either." Well, he couldn't talk, could he? Some animals could—enough so that some humans, ones with the gift, could understand them—but he'd never been one. "But, you saved my life." She stared at him. "There was a war on. You—I told you, you don't have to believe any of this—you were a noblewoman. You'd been trained in patching up the wounded and things. You saved my life." He was _not_ going to explain about being a bird she'd raised from a chick. Nothing he'd said was a lie. He was just leaving out the _really _crazy parts.

Rose gave a weak laugh—more like she thought they were making a bad joke than the kind of hysterical laughter someone might have if she were stressing out in the presence of the dangerously insane, so that was good. "A noblewoman. Is that how I ended up locked up here? I told people I was a noblewoman from fairy tale land?"

"Locked up here?" Ruby asked.

"It's where she was," Dove said. "For the whole twenty-eight years. Regina had her in a cell in the basement."

Ruby's eyes widened but it was Rose who said, "Twenty—_twenty-eight years?_"

She wouldn't have known. No one knew who hadn't been told-or who knew who Princess Emma was-realized how much time had passed in their town.

"It's how long we've been here—how long everyone in this town of crazies thinks we've been here. Twenty-eight years. We didn't change or grow old. Till it was broken." Emma was one of the other things he'd be better off explaining later.

The blood had drained from Rose's face and she wasn't laughing. "I—I was in that cell for twenty-eight years?" There was no doubt, now. She believed him.

Twenty-eight years in a cell. Cursed or not, that was the kind of thing you remembered.

"Why? Why did she do that to me?"

_She._ There was something else Rose remembered and believed.

"She's crazy," Dove said. "And evil. It was her curse. She'd lost a fight and this was her way of getting even. Against everyone.

"But, she's scared of Gold. Fireballs. Things like that. She was scared what he'd do if he remembered, if he got the upper hand on her again. She wanted something to use against him.

"That something was you.

"Or, if you don't want to believe in our world and crazy memories, she's just a sadistic witch and you were someone she decided to hate.

"Either way, he thought you'd died. He didn't know till you escaped and found him that you were alive.

Now, Ruby was staring at him. After all, it was news to her. "How do you know all this? Belle—Rose—she never told me any of this stuff."

"Gold told me," Dove looked at Rose, hoping saying that name wouldn't turn her against him. "I told you, I'm a body guard. Gold told me to look after you." He held his breath, waiting to see how she took the truth now he'd come out and said it.

_Then, one day, I flew to his castle, just to see her. She wasn't there._

_He was. He knew who I was when he saw me. "Are you looking for her?" he asked. His voice was hoarse and raw. I knew humans sounded that way sometimes when they were sad, not that I knew about crying. Birds don't. Cry, I mean. "You're too late. She's gone. She's gone forever."_

_I didn't understand. But, I stayed in his castle. I think I was still hoping to see her; and, I understood that, whatever happened, he was sad because she wasn't there. I felt the same. I hoped she would come back to him._

_She never did, not in all the time I was there._

Rose shrank away from him.

"I'm a body guard," Dove repeated. "It doesn't matter who hired me. I work for _you_, not him. If you need to be protected from _him_, I'll do it. Even if it gets me killed, I'll do it."

"If—if he can really do what I saw him do, he'd kill you before you could stop him. Wouldn't he? Or can you throw fireballs, too?"

"I can't. I can't do any magic. But, I know how to make a plan. Magic only works in Storybrooke. This town is a piece of another realm. Once you cross the town line, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Ruby sputtered. "Cross the town—are you crazy? That's what started this!"

"Ruby means there's another thing about the town line," Dove said calmly. "Once you cross it, it's like being cursed again. You lose your other memories. That's what happened to you last night—or that's what we believe happened. If you want to, you can think of it as going sane instead of being crazy like the rest of us. You were right by the town line when that man shot you. You fell over it. That's why you don't remember.

"I can't keep you safe here from wizards and witches—and, believe me, crazy or not, that's who you need to be protected from. But, I can keep you safe on the other side. My real world memories are of a retired soldier. I've kept in touch with other soldiers, navy seals, special forces, all sorts of people. I've got contacts, knowledge, all the advantages. If anyone comes after us, I'll be able to handle them."

"Wait a second," Ruby said. "If you cross the line, you'll lose your memory, too. You can't—"

"My life back there . . . you remember your friend Billy? And what he was? My past wasn't even that exciting." He cleared his throat, trying to put it so Ruby, at least, would understand. "There's a reason my name is what it is. I told you, I was a messenger. I can handle losing that. And I will, if it keeps her safe."

"Why?" Rose asked. "Even if you mean it, you really don't care about those memories, why give them up to help me?"

"Because, you saved my life in that world. And—I know you don't trust him, you don't need to—Gold saved my life in this one, and he told me to protect you."

"Even if you have to protect me from him?"

"Even if. That's what I do. That's who I am. On this side of the line or the other one."

Ruby, ever practical, broke in. "How will you remember it's your job once you cross the line?"

"I've got a letter and a recorded message. I may be confused for a bit, but I'll know I've accepted a job and how to do it. When we get the word it's safe, we'll come back. I've taken care of everything."

Ruby seemed to be looking for an argument. "What about those monster dogs of yours? And don't you keep birds? What about them?"

"The birds are coming with us. David Nolan's taking care of the dogs. He's the deputy sheriff," Dove explained to Rose. "His other job's animal rescue."

"Really? He just let you dump those five giants on him? How much dog food do they go through in a week?"

"A lot. And he doesn't know he has them, yet. I left him a note." Ruby stared at him, then she burst out laughing. "They're trained guard dogs. _They'll_ know if Cora shows up. And there's a year's supply of dog food at my house."

"A _year's_ supply? How long are you expecting to be gone?"

"Not that long. I just like being prepared. In case something happens."

"Something like what?"

"Well, in case I have to run across the town line and leave my dogs behind for David Nolan to look after. It could happen, you know."

Rose shook her head. "You-you're assuming I'll go with you. I don't even _know_ you."

"I know. And I know it's asking a lot. You can talk to David Nolan or Mary Margaret—I understand you met her last night. She's the dark haired woman who helped you when you when the ambulance came. You can talk to anyone you like—and you've got a cell phone. You can check in with them day or night. Believe me, town line or not, they'll find a way to collect my scalp if I don't look after you.

"But, believe me on this, too, you'll be safer over there. Please, I know it's a lot to ask. But, let me protect you."

Rose gave him a long look. Then, she looked at the crushed syringe still lying on the floor and glanced around the room as though she were expecting another nurse to come after her. "All right," she said. "I want to talk to this David Nolan. And Mary Margaret. And maybe some other people. But, I'll go with you."

_It's strange. Before the curse broke, I was a retired marine who'd forgotten who he was. Then, thanks to Gold, I remembered._

_Once the curse broke, it was the same thing all over again. Remembering meant I didn't know who I was. I wasn't a man who'd saved lives in battle. I wasn't even a man. The moment when Gold saved my soul—he'd laugh at the idea, but that's what he did that day in Tom's pharmacy—even that might not have happened._

_I think it did. The curse wanted to make us miserable, and that's what it was doing. Making me someone who'd forgotten not just who he was—we'd all done that—but who he was supposed to be. Why would the curse then turn around and give it all back? The only thing I can believe is that Gold, the Dark One, the most powerful wizard who ever lived, could work his way around the curse even when he didn't know there was a curse, enough to knock some sense into me._

_But, if I really believe it, why haven't I asked Gold if it happened?_

_At least, if I cross the town line, I won't worry about questions like that anymore._

_So, if I have to give up my memories to do this, then that's what I'll do. Whether I remember that I owe Lady Belle my life, or whether I only remember that Gold saved me when I needed saving and he wants Rose protected—that won't matter. I'll do it either way._

_I've written a letter and made a recording explaining the job. I've also got a letter and a message Gold made telling me the same thing. Crossing the town line won't change what I do._

_I'm leaving this message here in my home, assuming I come back. I won't return till Gold gives the all clear, but I know him. He'll move heaven and earth for the people he loves. He'll find a way to bring Lady Belle back._

_And, if it's safe to return but I never remember, if this letter never seems like anything more than a crazy story I wrote for myself, something I'll have to blame on flashbacks from when I was going crazy with pain and the drugs I was taking for it, that's OK, too. In this world, I'm Jonas Dove, the son of a long line of marines who hasn't let the tradition down. Even if I don't remember, even if I don't know what price I paid, I know the words: _semper fidelis._ That's enough._

**Note: I was reading how the original script for Skin Deep would have shown the messenger bird that was sent with the request to Rumplestiltskin for help. We would have seen the bird fighting through a war zone to get to Rumple's castle. There would be hints, later in the episode, that this this bird was Mr. Dove in Storybrooke. **


End file.
